Penelope appeared. “Where has my brother gone? I know he especially wanted to speak to you.”
“We couldn’t hear over all the din,” Evleen answered, her voice raised. “He said he’d call on me tomorrow.”
“Come with me,” said Penelope. After she’d led Evleen to a quiet corner, she asked, “You do know what it’s about, don’t you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I think you are.”
No sense trying to fool Penelope. “I suppose I am, but...” Evleen frowned and bit her lip. “I am so confused. My mother thinks the most important thing in the world is for me to marry well.”
Penelope raised her fine, arched eyebrows. “We are all supposed to marry well, but that doesn’t mean we must. I want you to listen to me. I don’t care if I offend you or not, but there are things you ought to hear.”
“Do go ahead,” Evleen answered softly, not having the vaguest notion what her friend was going to say.
Penelope began, “I don’t know what your true feelings about Thomas are, but I know what they should be. Of course, he is but a second son. Of course, he doesn’t have a fortune. But a finer man never walked the face of this earth. He loves you, Evleen. He’s going to ask you to marry him, and if you turn him down, I shall never forgive you.”
“But I am in such a dilemma! My mother wants the best for me. I promised—”
“I am amazed. With all due respect, I cannot believe that a woman as strong and independent as you would not do exactly what she pleased instead of blindly following what she perceives to be what her mother wants.”
“That’s not so.”
“Isn’t it?” Penelope’s eyes blazed with intensity. “Are you blind? Can’t you see all that Thomas has done for you? Who escorted you clear across Ireland and comforted and took care of you when you got sick on the boat? Who found you and Patrick when you were lost and brought you home? Who saw to it that you learned the waltz, and all those other dances, and the language of the fan? Surely not the Trevlyns. And it wasn’t my idea either, it was Thomas’s. He cares for you, Evleen. Oh, you can find a rich man and a title easily enough, but can you find a man who’s generous and kind and loves you with all his heart? I think not. And I think if it’s true love you want, you’ll use your own judgement and follow your heart, not your mother’s wishes.”
Penelope stopped for breath. “Oh, dear,” she said as a rueful smile crept over her face. “I didn’t mean to be so vehement, I just wanted to let you know how deeply I felt.”
“Quite all right,” Evleen hastened to say, not revealing she was shaken to the core. “I value your opinion. My feelings for Thomas are... I’m just beginning to see... rest assured, I shall think about what you said.”
“Do,” answered Penelope. She bid Evleen goodnight and turned away, leaving Evleen in such a state of confusion she could only stand and stare, and consider Penelope’s advice.
Follow your heart, not your mother’s wishes...
Follow your heart... Of course. She loved Thomas. It was a moment of awakening that left her reeling. Suddenly she felt wrapped in a blissful cocoon of euphoria. Thomas loved her. Tomorrow he would tell her so. Tomorrow he would ask her to marry him and with heartfelt joy she would accept because yes, yes, a million times yes! she loved him, too. Up until now, her mother’s demands had come first. Make me proud, Mama had said, and she, ever the dutiful daughter, had so wanted to abide by her mother’s wishes she had never considered doing otherwise until this very moment. In all her heedful life, she had never understood the young girls who, in the name of love, had brought shame and disgrace upon themselves and upon their families because of some man. Had they no pride? How could they do such a thing? Now, for the first time, Evleen knew what a mad, heated, utterly irrational desire for a man could do. Nothing on earth compelled her to do what her mother said. Suddenly it didn’t matter what her mother wanted. Nothing mattered, except her passionate desire to be in Thomas’s arms again, feel his lips on hers, and do those forbidden things that until now she could only guess about and dream about.
Evleen hated to even think how devastated Mama would be. Yet she knew Sinead O’Fallon was a reasonable woman, compassionate, and kind. Given time, perhaps she would forget money and titles, and be proud to have for a son-in-law the kindest, most witty, most exciting man in all the world.
* * *
Outside, Evleen stood by the curb, clutching her light wrap about her, searching for the Trevlyns. All around, departing guests milled about. Carriages and horses clogged the streets. The air was filled with the cries of impatient coachmen who had picked up their passengers and were anxious to move from the curb.
To her surprise and disgust, Montague approached. And she thought she’d seen the last of him this night!
“Ah, my dear Evleen,” he began, his voice even thicker than before. “Are you ready to apologize for your rudeness?”
“I shall apologize when hell freezes over, Lord Eddington.”
“But see here...” As Montague rocked back and forth on two unsteady feet, his muddled mind groped for words. “Haven’t you heard... uh, what a great catch I am? Come, my sweet, it would be to your advantage to be more friendly.”
He reached for her. Repulsed, she backed away, just as Lydia and her daughters approached. “Leave me alone, sir,” she coldly replied, too angry to care if the Trevlyns overheard. “You are most certainly not a great catch. You’re nothing better than a cup-shot scapegrace, and I want nothing more to do with you. Imeacht gan teacht ort!”
Montague appeared taken aback. “What does that mean?”
“It means, ‘may you leave without returning.’”
Montague appeared nonplused for a moment, then gave her an overelaborate, and rather unsteady bow. He mumbled, “In that event, I shall bid you goodnight, but you haven’t heard the last of me, my love,” and disappeared into the crowd.
“How rude of you, Evleen,” Lydia exclaimed.
“But, Mama, didn’t you hear what he said?” asked Amanda.
Lydia ignored her daughter and glared at Evleen. “No lady of impeccable breeding would ever say such things.”
For once, Evleen did not care to humble herself. “He deserved it, Mrs. Trevyln.”
Charlotte looked amazed. “I simply cannot understand how you could have talked to Lord Eddington in that fashion.”
Evleen ignored her. In uncomfortable silence they were waiting for their carriage when the sound of the frantic neighing of a horse came from up the street, followed by a shout of warning. There was silence for a moment, then horrified screams and more shouting. Men started running. With a sense of premonition and dread, Evleen ran, too, until, halfway up Bolton Street she saw a dark, still bundle lying on the cobblestones and a horse with an empty saddle standing close by.
She stood frozen. It couldn’t be, but that bundle in the street lay so still. Her mind refused to accept the horrifying possibility, and yet she knew that only moments earlier, she had been talking to Montague, telling him to leave and not return. And now...
In a daze, she heard a familiar voice call, “My brother!” saw Thomas rush past and kneel beside the still figure. Just then, Lydia and her daughters came to stand beside her. “It cannot be Montague,” Lydia said in disbelieving horror.
“I’m afraid it is.”
“Is he dead?”
Before Evleen could say she didn’t know, someone shouted, “Eddington was thrown from his horse and hit his head. The poor devil’s dead!”
Amanda looked stunned. Bettina started to cry. Charlotte, her hand pressed to her mouth, gasped in consternation. Her knees sagged, and she would have collapsed had not her mother and Evleen caught and supported her.
A grim-lipped Lydia looked to Evleen for support. “Help me. We must get my girls to the carriage at once.”
“Of course.” Evleen cast one more horrified look at the still body in the street and the small knot of people gathered around. Thomas was there. She longed to
comfort him, but Lydia needed her.
With a heavy weight on her heart, she helped Lydia half-carry a grieving, near-hysterical Charlotte back to their carriage, along with her stunned and horrified sisters.
* * *
“Montague, speak to me, speak to me. Oh, God.” Thomas, kneeling in the street, held the body of his brother in his arms. Montague was dead. An unbearable wave of grief consumed him as he remembered the Montague of the olden days. In age, they were only two years apart and had been inseparable when they were young. Always the defiant one, Thomas had been saved from trouble many a time by his older brother. Now Thomas’s heart cried out in anguish, not for the drunken wastrel Montague had become, but for that little boy who had always been staunchly loyal to his younger brother, always taking his side, fighting his battles.
He felt Penelope’s presence beside him. “Is he gone?” she asked, tears choking her voice.
“He’s gone,” Thomas whispered, hard put to keep back his own tears. He laid Montague’s lifeless body gently in the street, removed his coat and with care and reverence covered his brother’s face. His own grief was nearly overwhelming, but sensing his sister’s near hysteria, he drew her into his comforting arms.
Someone said, “I saw the accident, Lord Thomas. His horse shied, I don’t know why. He fell off, making no effort to hang on, it seemed, and struck his head on the cobblestones.”
Someone in the crowd remarked, “Good grief. This changes everything for Linberry.”
Did it? Thomas couldn’t think beyond the fact he had just lost his beloved, only brother.
* * *
The momentous consequences of Montague’s death did not occur to Thomas until after his brother’s remains had been removed, and he and Penelope were in their carriage, finally going home. Through her tears, Penelope asked, “Thomas, do you realize the import of this?”
“What do I care about import? Our brother is dead.”
“But you must care. Think of it. Montague is gone and he didn’t leave any heirs. That makes you the heir apparent.”
Exhausted, not wanting to think, Thomas leaned back against the squabs. In the dim circles of light cast by passing street lamps, he could see his sister’s anguished face. From outside, he heard the familiar clip-clopping of the horses’ hooves and he thought how strange it was that anything could sound so ordinary on this extraordinary night. Soon, as he half listened, the stunning meaning of Penelope’s words crept into his consciousness.
Yes, now he was the first son...
Yes, from this day forward he was Lord Eddington...
And yes...
He sat straight, hurtling back from his universe of grief into a new reality. No longer was he the insignificant second son. He was now Lord Eddington, who some day would become Marquess of Westhaven and inherit one of the largest, most wealthy estates in all England.
“Do you not see what this means?” asked Penelope. “Your life is about to change, and most dramatically.”
“Dear God,” Thomas muttered. As a second son he had been in charge of his own life with nothing expected of him. But now he was the heir.
A new anguish seared his heart. Except for his dilemma over Evleen, he had been supremely happy with his life, just as it was. But what Penelope said was true, and he knew his life was about to change forever.
There was something else, too. It was a glimmering fact that he would tuck away in the back of mind until later he could deal with it.
* * *
Evleen and the Trevlyns arrived home after a woeful carriage ride during which the Trevlyn girls worked through various stages of hysteria, particularly Charlotte, who appeared near prostrate with grief. It was not until they were all seated in the drawing room and Pierce had been instructed to bring them tea, that Lydia said to Charlotte, “Do you realize Thomas is now the heir?”
“What do I care?” cried Charlotte, “Montague is dead, isn’t he? My life is over.”
She really did love him, thought Evleen with deep sympathy. How it was possible to love someone as selfish and self-indulgent as Montague was difficult to fathom, but Charlotte no doubt saw him through different eyes.
Lydia said gently, “Your life is not over, Charlotte. Just now, you’re overcome with grief, which is natural, but soon you’ll be looking to the future, and that means Thomas.”
“Thomas?” Charlotte asked in a vague way. With her lace handkerchief she dabbed at her eyes.
Lydia briskly nodded. “In case you didn’t hear me the first time, Thomas is now Lord Eddington and will inherit his father’s entire estate.”
“Thomas is now the heir,” Charlotte repeated in dazed wonderment. “I always did like Thomas.”
Bettina said, “There was never anything wrong with Thomas except he was a second son. But he isn’t any more, is he?” She brightened. “He has always liked me, you know. He greatly admires my needlework.”
“So Thomas is the new Lord Eddington,” Charlotte, ignoring her sister, mused aloud. It was obvious she had finally grasped the full meaning of Thomas’s new position in life. “Oh, Mama, do you think—?”
“So all is not lost, after all.” A note of triumph, mixed with relief, filled Lydia’s voice. “Montague was a fine man, God rest his soul, but he was into his cups a great deal of the time, whereas Thomas—”
“Thomas is everything Montague was not,” said Charlotte with growing enthusiasm. “I’ve always had the feeling he admired me.”
Lydia shot her a look of disdain. “There are matters far more important than whether he admires you or not. Bear in mind, the Marquess’s fondest wish has always been that Northfield Hall and Aldershire Manor be conjoined. This is not the time to consider such matters, however I have not one doubt the Marquess will expect Thomas to carry out his plan. Meanwhile, girls, we must summon Celeste at once. We must have suitable black clothing to wear to Montague’s funeral. I suspect he’ll be buried at Northfield Hall, so we shall be taking a journey tomorrow.”
Montague’s funeral, Evleen thought in despair. Little did she know when the day began how horribly it would end. She pictured her wardrobe, but there was nothing suitable. “I’m afraid I have nothing black to wear.”
Lydia regarded her strangely. “You? Go to Montague’s funeral?”
“Naturally I thought... well, yes, of course I shall go,” answered Evleen. “Is there anything wrong?”
“You can go if you wish, of course,” Lydia answered with an elaborate shrug, “far be it from me to stand in your way, but I’d hardly advise it, considering feelings will be running high against you.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Evleen asked, totally bewildered.
Charlotte spoke up. “She means those awful things you were saying to Montague. A lot of people heard you.” She burst into a new fit of sobbing. “And now he’s dead and you are the one responsible!”
Evleen was dumbfounded. “But that’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” asked Lydia. “Can you deny you pushed Montague while on the dance floor? Many people saw you, Evleen. Of course, we shall try to stand by you.” One corner of her mouth lifted in a half-hearted smile. “Even though that might prove difficult.”
Still dumbfounded, Evleen declared, “I don’t need you to stand by me. I have done nothing wrong.”
Lydia appeared not to hear. “And then there’s that business at the curb. You did say some terrible things to Montague. Surely you cannot deny it.”
Evleen was aghast. “Are you trying to say I caused Montague’s death?”
“Can you honestly say you had no part in it? That remark you made in Gaelic, telling him to leave and not return—in retrospect, do you realize how utterly vile it was?”
“But you don’t understand.” Evleen gave a choked, desperate laugh. “I mean, I said some things, but there were circumstances... didn’t you hear what he said to me? Caused his death? That is beyond all reason.”
Lydia answered, “Oh, you didn’t personally throw him off his horse
, if that’s what mean, but it’s clear your sharp tongue unsettled the poor man.”
“Which is why he was so distraught he raced off on his horse and fell off,” said Charlotte. Her eyes blazed with accusation. “It’s all your fault, Evleen. You so much as killed him, and don’t think for a moment the whole world doesn’t know.”
“That’s not so, Charlotte,” said Amanda, who up to now had remained silent. “Evleen is right. People don’t know all the circumstances. We were standing right there, all of us, so surely you must have heard Montague saying those insulting things to Evleen. She was only defending herself. We need to tell people that. We need—”
“Hush, Amanda, you don’t know what you heard.” Lydia Trevlyn glared accusingly at Evleen. “Charlotte is right. We all heard the abominable things you said to Montague, and for no reason, other than your own vituperative motives.”
“Utter nonsense,” Evleen flatly declared. Up to now she felt so confused and badgered she could hardly speak, but now she was getting angry. She stood up and declared, “You know very well, Lydia Trevlyn, Montague fell from his horse because he was foxed. That’s the reason, pure and simple, and if you say otherwise, you are being hideously unfair.”
Hearing Lydia’s sudden intake of breath, Evleen knew she’d offended the woman, but she was too sickened and disgusted to care. Before Lydia could speak, Evleen raised a hand to silence her. “Montague is dead because of his own folly and I’ll not hear another word.”
With firm steps, she strode from the drawing room, vastly relieved to escape an atmosphere reeking of reprobation, all directed toward her. She was about to mount the stairs when she heard Lydia’s voice behind her.
“Wait a moment,” the older woman called in a compromising tone. “I have something to say to you alone.”
“And what might that be, Mrs. Trevlyn?” Evleen was hard-put to keep the anger and resentment from her voice.
“We talked once, remember? I told you my daughters would always come first.”
The Irish Upstart Page 22
